


Coming Home

by raiyana



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dangers of the wilderness, Elrond is canny...far too canny for Glorfindel's liking, Elves are not immune to psychological trauma, Injury, M/M, Pre-Relationship, light warning for blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-12 02:47:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13538052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: In which:Elrond conjures up a mad scheme involving goats becauseGlorfindel lacks emotional acuity and gets distracted in more than one way whileErestor is long-suffering and a little confused.No actual goats were harmed in the making of this fic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keiliss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keiliss/gifts).



> For keiliss: i wrote the first story and then realised you'd asked for no h/c, angst or fluff...  
> my second attempt(chapter two) is lighter, though it follows as an extension of the first.  
> I hope you enjoy the story either way.  
> Prompt:  
> Rating up to = R
> 
> Requested pairing = Erestor/Glorfindel or Gildor/Maglor or Ecthelion/anyone BUT Glorfindel. Or similar elves of choice if you have a fic you really want to write.
> 
> Story elements = As long as it has a beginning, a middle, an end, and two people who fancy each other, it's all good. I'm not fussed about the rating, just tell me a story. Give it a mountain setting, a little humour, a little passion, and I'll be happy. Bonus points for goats!
> 
> Do NOT include = Rape, incest, noncon, massive Angst, h/c, Mirkwood royals. Go easy on the fluff.

It was Idril’s fault, Glorfindel was sure. Looking back, it had started with Idril, and her smile, and the way that smile made it _so difficult_ to deny her things. Eärendil had not inherited the smile, or perhaps he had not had enough reason to use it, but Elrond and Elros both had it.

Ergo, it was Idril’s fault.

At least partly.

Certainly, he could blame many, other names and faces appeared, without whom he would never have found himself in his current circumstances. Trying to drown out the small voice that blamed himself most of all, he continued to argue with his own thoughts.

Fëanor, for one, could be blamed, though it took some jumping through hoops of causality to reach that conclusion. _However_ , if not for Fëanor, Celebrimbor would never have been in Beleriand, and the Sindar would not have welcomed the thought of him taking what was left of his battle-hardened people and settling near Hithaeglir. Without the realm of Eregion, where The Idea that had started all this had been born, none of this would have happened, he was sure.

Which meant it was also Celebrimbor’s fault.

But if it was _Celebrimbor’s_ fault – and he was more and more certain that it _was_ – then it was also _Narví’s_ fault, and with her the entirety of the Dwarrow population of Dwarrowdelf might as well be included.

If _anyone_ was to blame, surely it was the Dwarrow? Nodding to himself, Glorfindel spent the next while composing the mother of all reprimands for the next Dwarf he came across.

Scowling at imaginary Dwarrow did not make the panic abate, but he told himself it made him feel better.

Resting with his head on Glorfindel’s thigh – Glorfindel really wished he had been able to provide a better pillow, regretting abandoning his sick-stained tunic hours earlier; surely he could have cleaned it enough for the purpose in a stream – Erestor groaned, making Glorfindel lose track of a colourful insult and snapping his attention back to the real world.

Glorfindel had washed the blood out of his hair as best he could, but the gash at his temple, the surrounding skin swollen and tender, continued to frighten him with its crimson droplets seeping through the clotting.

He purposely did not look at his leg, did not remember the way Erestor had screamed when he pulled the bones back into alignment. Erestor groaned something incoherent again, his forehead furrowing in obvious pain, even through the healing sleep and Glorfindel wished he had a pot of pain-reducing tea.

Looking down at the sleeping elf stretched on the ground beside him, the unbound dark hair spread across his own thigh, Glorfindel held his breath, hoping for some sort of scolding, or other lecture about indignity to spew forth from those thin lips, but Erestor did not wake, his eyes remaining stubbornly closed.

“Hush now,” Glorfindel murmured soothingly, continuing to run his fingers slowly along Erestor’s dark hair. It was very fine, and so sleek; for a moment he envied the sleekness, ruefully catching sight of one of his own hopelessly tangled wayward locks out the corner of his eye. Erestor’s pained noises subsided, never becoming true wakefulness at all, which was the only reason he would subject himself to being treated so by _Glorfindel._ Erestor didn’t like him, and Glorfindel was well aware, no matter how much it vexed him that he never seemed to fully accept Glorfindel’s overtures of friendship.

At least, being asleep meant Erestor wasn’t scowling, or studying him like Glorfindel was an ancient text in an unknown tongue or a particularly puzzling conundrum. Glorfindel did not think it was an improvement, even if it allowed him to relax in an odd sense; he preferred it when those dark eyes blazed with emotion he did not dare name, making him the sole focus of Erestor’s considerable attention, but it was strangely peaceful to be able to stare at his face without having to check himself lest he give away the truth. As much as he liked the sharp tongue that could spit words as cutting as a blade, but also sing so sweetly, murmur so calmly that Glorfindel cherished the moments he caught glances of Erestor’s softer side, he revelled in this undisturbed moment of postponed worry. Indulging his own foolishness as he traced Erestor’s straight nose with a barely-there fingertip, Glorfindel allowed his digit to roam a little longer, seeking out the softness of Erestor’s upper lip and skittering away when his tongue came out to chase across the red skin.

He shouldn’t think about Erestor’s tongue, shouldn’t imagine the way it made an appearance in the corner of his mouth when he was engrossed in studying some ancient lore or map, shouldn’t think about the way his lips glistened when that tongue swiped across them…

Glorfindel should stop thinking about Erestor’s tongue, altogether. Withdrawing his hand, Glorfindel sighed, wondering if Elrond had begun to miss them yet.

Casting about for a different mental exercise in an attempt to stave off the insanity that was surely lurking around the corner of continuing-this-way, Glorfindel returned to his list of blame, idly poking the small fire as he wondered whether it was unfair to blame everyone from Imladris to Lindon for his current trial. He decided he didn’t much care.

 

Looking back, it was easy to pinpoint when the chain of events that had brought them to this current calamity began, though the true reasons should be sought out almost…

 _Manwë’s Breath_ , it had been nearly two millennia!

Groaning to and at himself, and glaring at Erestor’s serene face for good measure, Glorfindel let his head fall back against the wide trunk of the tree he had chosen as a backrest, staring up through the still-sparse foliage as the stars began to glimmer into existence against the darkening sky. With a wry smile, he saluted Eärendil, wondering if the Mariner was laughing to see him in such a predicament.

A chill wind blew down from the mountaintop, but the small dell he had managed to find shortly before sunset was adequately protected by dense bushes – holly, he thought, feeling guilty for his earlier unkind thoughts about Celebrimbor.

The goat!

He’d clear forgotten the goat as a contender for his list of individuals upon whom to heap blame, and it was _at least_ as culpable as Idril… maybe more. The bear, obviously, held a greater share, and he spent another few minutes re-ordering his list to account for that, too.

 

Throwing another piece of wood on the fire, he settled in to keep watch through the dark hours. The mountains were not so dangerous as they had once been – though evidently dangerous enough, looking at Erestor, whose leg was wrapped with strips cut from the lower parts of Glorfindel’s own breeches and kept still with four sturdy branches, and whose head still resembled a far too scarlet slash of torn up flesh for his liking. Still, it paid to be vigilant, even this close to Imladris; who knew what manner of beasts roamed these mountains, after all. Glorfindel had seen bear tracks, earlier, though no signs of the animal near their impromptu campsite, and if not for his need to keep Erestor warm, he’d have foregone announcing their presence to all and sundry with the fire.

The flames flickered hypnotically, playing tricks in the corner of his view.

Glorfindel would not let it distract him from scanning the surrounding wilderness, alert for any approaching danger.

 

The danger was already present in their small camp, however, striking softly and silently with the twin fangs of emotional and physical exhaustion and fear.

Glorfindel did not even realise when he slid into the waking dreams that slowly forced him deeper into sleep, resting beneath the stars with one hand buried in Erestor’s soft hair and the other splayed across his chest, moving gently with each breath.

 

 

_“Erestor!” Glorfindel smiled widely, plopping down beside the oft-surly Seneschal, doing his level best to ignore the scowl aimed in his direction._

_“Lord Glorfindel,” Erestor greeted, returning to his dinner with alacrity._

Glorfindel shook himself out of following his retreating form with his eyes when he left a little while later, no more than two words exchanged between them. He sighed, wondering what he’d done to offend this time.

There had been a time when Erestor would smile at him; not as brightly as he’d like, but they were at war, so some grimness was to be expected, Glorfindel supposed, still filled with the buoyancy of his return to Middle-Earth, coming _home_.

Of course, that was before _The Incident_.

 

 

He was tired, tired and heartsick and horrified all at once, exhaustion not so deep as the fatigue he had felt near the end of his battle with the balrog, but still enough to make him feel it in every muscle.

Celebrimbor was dead, as they had feared.

If only death had been all that had been dealt to the Smith-Lord. If only.

Stumbling into the temporary encampment in the valley before the Gate, Glorfindel blinked tiredness out of his eyes, looking for the distinctive red armour of Durin who was bellowing orders to the milling crowd. Letting hi eyes slide across the throng, Glorfindel sought out the taller figures of his own kind, pulling the helmet from his head with a deep sigh of weariness. He tried to tell his legs to move, knowing that he needed to find sustenance soon.

Erestor found him first, though it took Glorfindel a while to realise that the person who had slammed into his chest and was now trembling violently against him was Erestor.

“Glorfindel!” He barely heard the cry before someone slammed into his chest with enough force to make him rock back a step. Instinctively wrapping his arms around his assailant, slightly shorter than himself, Glorfindel felt soft hair against his jaw, a pair of strong arms wrapping around his waist, squeezing tightly. Squeezing back lightly, still confused, he surrendered to the hug – an Edain custom, and rarely practised among their kind; this much bodily contact was emotional in itself, and adding the feelings that the darkhaired elf was nearly pushing at him combined to make a heady cocktail of sensation that nearly drowned Glorfindel’s mind.

“…Erestor?” he asked dumbly, lost in the tide of fear-tinged relief he felt tense up his comrade. “I am here, Erestor,” he whispered, feeling the slender body trembling against his own. Erestor’s armour was gone, as well as his swords, replaced by a dark blue tunic with silver stitching. Erestor did not respond, and Glorfindel did not know what to say, so he simply wrapped his arms tighter around the trembling body, resting his cheek on Erestor’s hair and enjoying the softness against his face, the subtle scent of apple-blossoms that clung to the strands.

“I thought you died again,” Erestor admitted, his voice so low that Glorfindel only heard it due to proximity to its source. The roughened voice and the slight dampness soaking trailing down his neck spoke plainly.

“No…” Glorfindel swallowed, feeling his throat move against Erestor’s hair – a not unpleasant sensation – tightening his hold slightly, feeling his fëa sing with a sense of _rightness_. He wanted to stand here forever. “I am here, safe and sound, I promise,” he murmured. Erestor had always been the epitome of calm, even during the last years of uncertainty, and Glorfindel suddenly realised that holding him, lending him whatever strength he was looking for, reassurances flowing across his lips was something he needed at least as much as the trembling elf in his arms. Erestor sighed into his throat, tension leaving him with the expelled air. “Are you well, mellon?” Glorfindel asked, the moniker tripping off his tongue with familiar ease. Erestor stiffened. Pushing himself away from Glorfindel, he took a step back, nodding decisively. Glorfindel’s arms felt suddenly empty.

“I am unhurt, my Lord,” he murmured. “Excuse me, I should check on… excuse me.” With that, Erestor whirled and Glorfindel uttered a low curse at the loss.

“Erestor!” he called, but though he paused, the other ellon did not turn around. “Please… forgive me for causing you fear.” Glorfindel wasn’t used to uttering pleas, but he wasn’t sure that his overwhelming impulse to spin the shorter ellon back into his hold until he felt satisfied enough by the contact to let him go was a good plan either.

“I forgive you,” Erestor sighed, his shoulders slumped. He did not look back.

 

The Incident played in his mind over and over throughout the centuries, reliving that moment of _rightness_ in dreams. He had tried, at first, to speak to Erestor, probing questions trying to discover if what he thought he remembered feeling had been born of something genuine, or simply a trick of battle fatigue. The way Erestor’s mouth tightened at the corners whenever he brought it up eventually convinced him that the other had acted on a moment of madness and regretted it later; friendship was all he should hope for, Glorfindel realised.

It was not enough.

The more he spent time in Erestor’s presence, the more he realised that the rightness was still there, muted slightly, but still enough to make his heart squeeze in his chest when Erestor smiled.

Of course, by the time Glorfindel came to the realisation that Erestor was nothing more than embarrassed by the whole lapse of sanity, Erestor was angry with him for continuing to bring it up and most of his chance for friendship gone.

For a while, Glorfindel stopped himself every time he wanted to ask for the explanation he still sought, and when Erestor finally relaxed around him he realised that they _could_ be friends. The many absences when he rode out with Elrond’s warriors made every moment he could snatch feeling that echo of rightness worth more than anything else he could think of, and Glorfindel chased it mercilessly.

And then the War finally came in truth, the Last Alliance formed, marching East until they stood before the Gates of Mordor itself.

 

Peace was altogether different.

Erestor was there, in Rivendell, _every day_ , and Glorfindel felt giddy with joy that the grief of their losses could not dim.

More than once, he made the obvious mistake of asking Erestor about _that day_. Then he began doing it on purpose, enthralled by the way lightning would flash across those grey eyes, the way Erestor’s nose flared when his temper finally sparked.

And still he had no answers.

He told himself that he accepted his fate, but even so he couldn’t stop himself needling Erestor every now and again, secretly longing to feel even a sliver of his attention, no matter how it was earned. He thought he managed to hide the true reasons behind his behaviour; at least Erestor never seemed to suspect anything.

The dreams continued, but somehow worse, the sense of peace that permeated every hour of his life stealing into his dreams and painting visions he had only fleetingly considered before, vivid and stark in his mind’s eye; kisses, specifically kissing Erestor, but stranger desires like feeding him tiny morsels of food, just to watch those thin lips wrap around the tip of his eating knife.  

The dreams continued to haunt him, Irmo taunting him with images of what he was clearly not meant to discover physically.

In his dreams, he had softness and smiles, gentle song and Erestor’s dark locks trailing through his fingers.

In his wakeful life, however, he had barely concealed annoyance most of the time, his attempts at winning Erestor’s attention rarely met with the responses he longed for, the smiles too rare and too fleeting.

 

Glorfindel did not like dreaming, these days, preferring to remain awake until exhaustion granted him true restful sleep. Dreamless.

 

 

Like often before, he found himself roaming the corridors at night, unable to rest in waking dreams and cursing himself for a fool with every other step.

“You’re still awake, Glorfindel?” Elrond wondered, a smudge of ink on his cheek revealing that even without the war, the new Master of Imladris spent long hours with his head bent over paperwork.

Glorfindel felt a moment of guilt, but he’d never liked paperwork, paperwork was for people like Erestor and… _Varda help him, could he really not go ten minutes without thinking about that elf, that far too sweet and lovely and…_ he cut himself off ruthlessly. He didn’t think he’d been this pathetic before, but he’d had warfare to distract him, he supposed; now, he managed to run into Erestor _every single day without fail_. Now, he managed to notice all those things that he had already _known_ but which had not really registered as desirable. Like the way Erestor’s nose creased when he laughed – a rare occurrence, still, but he had caught him talking to Lindir earlier…

Glorfindel scowled at the innocent sapling in its planter beside him; the green leaves fluttered in the night breeze. Yavanna clearly had no sympathy for his plight.

Elrond repeated his question, studying him like… well, like he knew far more than Glorfindel was comfortable with _anyone_ knowing, really.

“No… I- I was not tired,” Glorfindel claimed, sounding feeble even to his own ears. The sapling quivered beneath his gaze, but he wasn’t conceited enough to blame the strength of his glare, sighing as he turned to face Elrond. “You are awake late, yourself, friend,” he added instead, trying to shift the peredhel’s attention. Elrond’s grey eyes narrowed, but he nodded, kindly dropping the topic. Glorfindel supposed more than a few of them had problems finding peace, even now that they had _won_ peace, grief for the fallen colouring every word spoken in Imladris.

“Dreams will lighten,” Elrond said, looking like he wished they’d lighten a little quicker; Glorfindel sympathised. He had not seen Isildur fail their very purpose, but he had been on every bloody battlefield since Eregion’s fall and he had more than enough of his own horrors to keep him awake. Irmo, however, seemed content to send him dreams to explore the minute twitches of muscle that formed Erestor’s smile, which was… well, it _was_ an improvement, though vexing in a very different direction.

“I hope you are right, mellon,” he sighed. “Too much grief still hangs over us all, I fear.”

Elrond’s face lit up with sudden mischief, banishing the tiredness from his features for a moment.

“I know just what we should do!” he crowed. Glorfindel stared, boggling at the change in the young Master of Imladris. Elrond didn’t seem to notice. “It’s perfect!” he continued, fishing a blank piece of paper from the stack he was carrying. Glorfindel rescued his precariously wobbling inkpot, reading Elrond’s notes upside down.

His confusion only increased.

 

_To do:_

_Erestor –Invitations? rules? *memo Durin re goats_

_Glorfindel – Course? Scouts? – ~~dangerous?~~ _

_ Training?? _ _Durin?_

 

He had half opened his mouth to protest – ask for clarification – wondering how he was suddenly part of a plan involving goats, when Elrond uttered the words that he would later blame for getting the whole affair off the ground:

“This’ll make Erestor so happy!”

Elrond’s beaming smile held that same undeniable sunniness that Idril had employed so skilfully whenever she wanted someone to do something that they hadn’t planned to do, and the combination was more than enough to carry Glorfindel into nodding, not even deterred by the perplexing item ‘procure goats’ that Elrond had just jotted down next to his name.

 

 

 

Goat racing.

Glorfindel stared at Elrond as he made the announcement at breakfast; for a moment, he thought he had misheard, but Elrond’s earnest face convinced him he had not suddenly begun hearing things.

 _Goat racing._ Against the Dwarrow of Khazad-dûm.

“Like we used to do in Eregion?” Erestor asked, his forehead wrinkling lightly in confusion.

“It was Glorfindel’s idea,” Elrond said blithely, though Glorfindel had no memory of ever suggesting anything to that effect, looking into his juice goblet and wondering if someone had added something funny to the contents. Elrond continued speaking brightly. “I thought you would be great for organising it – you do remember the rules, yes?”

Erestor nodded slowly, looking about as taken aback as Glorfindel still felt, even with his advance warning.

_And then he smiled._

It was slow, but Glorfindel thought it was like watching the sun scatter dark rainclouds to reveal the brilliance of spring – _and it was directed at him, for once._

Of course, he was too stunned to smile back, and Erestor suddenly seemed to remember that he didn’t like him, his face carefully blanking as he turned back to look at Elrond.

Glorfindel mourned the loss of that smile all through the rest of breakfast, tuning out Elrond’s excited chatter entirely.

 

 

Elrond had insisted, of course, smiling Idril’s smile at him, which was why Glorfindel found himself alone with Erestor – and two goats, let’s not forget the goats – riding along an all but invisible mountain trail and marking out the course of the inaugural annual Khazad-Eldar race. It needed a better title, but Erestor was being stubbornly silent, ignoring all his attempts so far. Glorfindel did not let it stop him, needing to keep his mind occupied with something other than wanting to reaching for Erestor’s nearness.

“Must you always be so…” Erestor groused, his hand fluttering out in a gesture as he searched for a word, muttering something incomprehensible beneath his breath and interrupting Glorfindel’s spirited – and entertaining, he had thought, based on the light twitch of Erestor’s lip that he had been unable to quell – plea for renaming it ‘The Rivendell Runs’.

Glorfindel shook his head, running a hand through the loose waves of his hair. “Well, I am perfectly amenable to listening to _your_ suggestions,” he replied light-heartedly as he wondered what Erestor’s mumble had covered.

Erestor made a sound caught between a snort and a scoff, sardonic amusement clear in his face as he turned his head to look at Glorfindel.

“Perhaps you ought to turn your intellect-“

“My _considerable_ intellect,” Glorfindel interrupted breezily, feeling giddy. He would need to sleep when they returned to Rivendell, he suddenly realised, wondering how many nights he had gone without rest and missing Erestor’s wry reply as he counted silently.

The Loremaster shook his head, patting his mounts neck and they rode on in a silence Glorfindel did not know how to break, but feeling the need all the same.

 

 “Are those bear tracks?” Erestor asked, pointing off to the side of the trail, a little while later. Glorfindel shrugged. They had seen the first signs of life in the mountains some hours ago, even though spring came but slowly to the Hithaeglir.

“They look more than a day old; the animal that made them is probably far off by now,” he replied, eyeing the steep fall of the slope on the other side of Erestor. “Make a note that the trail comes quite close to the edge here,” he continued. “Riders should be careful – or we could change the path?” Morning sun gleamed in the dark strands of Erestor’s hair, just as it turned Glorfindel’s own to fiery gold, fascinating to behold. Erestor nodded, pulling out the small stick of charcoal he was using to annotate their map as they charted the route.

Foresight had never been among his skills, or Glorfindel might not have dismissed the tracks so easily; scarcely ten steps ahead, a great grizzly, lean from winter’s hibernation, burst from the shrubs to his right, killing his own goat with a mighty slash of its paw and sending Glorfindel jumping away.

Into Erestor.

A scream from the second goat vaguely registered, but it was a different scream that seared itself into his mind as he tried to reach, to grab, only to find his hands empty.

“Erestor!” Glorfindel bellowed, barely glancing at the bear before he followed the darkhaired elf over the edge; his own descent a controlled fall rather than a headless tumble as he tried to reach the colourful blue sprawl at the bottom of the gorge.

Vivid red mingled with black strands of hair, and Erestor did not move.

 

 

“Elbereth and all the Valar have mercy,” he whimpered when he finally reached the bottom, turning Erestor onto his back and bending to listen for the sound of his heart beating, barely able to pick out the sound over the frantic thrum of his own. “Please don’t be dead.”

_Thud-thud._

It was slow, but even; slower than Glorfindel’s own, but as his was currently doing its best impression of a trapped bird flapping frantically in his chest, Glorfindel figured that was not a bad sign.

Taking what felt like his first breath since Erestor had disappeared over the edge, Glorfindel stared, more terrified than he had been even during the war.

Unhooking the waterskin from his belt, his fingers shaking so hard he nearly dropped it, Glorfindel pulled the cork with his teeth, carefully pouring the water over the large gash along Erestor’s temple, locking down the whimper that tried to escape his throat when he saw the deep furrows in the flesh, clumps of hair obviously ripped out. Cleaning it as best he could, darting glances at Erestor’s face, slack in unconsciousness, Glorfindel tried to remain calm, the experienced warrior in him coldly aware that panicking would only add to his current list of problems.

Erestor groaned softly.

It was the most beautiful sound in the world, surpassed only by the halting wheeze that followed.

“Glorf…?” Erestor murmured, his grey eyes soft.

“Oh, _Stars_ ,” Glorfindel whispered, relief filling him as Erestor’s gaze cleared slowly, recognition evident. “You-you fell,” he added, for the first time staring back up the slope they had descended, flinching at the distance to the ledge he could see the remains of a goat’s leg hanging over. “I thought…” he couldn’t make the words pass his lips, pressing his hand harder against Erestor’s chest, feeling the slow beats beneath his palm.

“Head,” Erestor whimpered, his eyes closing briefly, wincing as the pain registered properly. “Hurts.”

“I know,” Glorfindel replied, satisfied with the cleanliness of the wound for now, “you hit it hard, I fear. We should return to Imladris.” Elrond ought to have a look; for a moment, Glorfindel cursed his lack of interest in the healing arts, limited to field triage, and vowed to amend this gap in his knowledge as soon as they made it home.

“My leg?” Erestor’s eyes tried to move past him; Glorfindel started. He had been so focused on the head wound that he’d clear forgotten to take stock of any other injuries; if nothing worse, Erestor was bound to have an impressive collection of bruise. Turning his head, he tried to hold back his gasp, though the sharp inhale from the elf below him probably meant he had not managed.

“It’s… broken.” Glorfindel did not dare turn his head back to Erestor’s face, moving to crouch beside the slender limb that was surely not meant to bend that way. Pulling the small dagger from his belt, Glorfindel cut swiftly through the fabric of Erestor’s breeches, steeling himself against the bit-off groan from his patient. He breathed out slowly, peeling away the fabric. “I think it’s a clean break,” he pronounced, running his fingers carefully along the limb, trying not to hurt Erestor with his probing touches, but knowing that it was an impossible task.

“Can you set it?” Erestor ground out, making Glorfindel’s eyes snap up to catch his. His mouth felt dry as he nodded slowly, trying to tell himself that this was just like the aftermath of any other battlefield he had seen, setting simple bone breaks and carrying his comrade to the healers.

But this was no battlefield, and Erestor was not a comrade in arms; Erestor was… Erestor, and he wouldn’t have been injured at all if not for Glorfindel. Sick shame and guilt flooded him, but he managed to keep his voice steady.

“I can.”

The scream etched itself into his memory.

 

Erestor was a surprisingly comfortable weight against his back, as Glorfindel walked along as briskly as he dared across the uneven ground. His head rested calmly against Glorfindel’s shoulder, the even breaths teasing the side of his neck with small tickling puffs of air on every exhale.

When Erestor groaned himself awake again, hours had passed by, the sun climbing steadily overhead. It was past midday already, and they were at least a full day’s walking from Imladris, of course, realistically more as Glorfindel was slightly uncertain where this gorge led.

“Head hurts,” Erestor slurred, turning his head slowly to look across the world, his hair taking over the duty of tickling Glorfindel’s jaw. Glorfindel felt a heady rush of relief at the sound of his voice.

“Don’t worry, Erestor,” he replied, his bright cheer false even to his own ears. “I’ll get you back home, and Elrond will fix you up good.”

Erestor replied with nothing more than a pained groan.

 

“Sick,” Erestor murmured, halfway to sunset, and that was the only warning Glorfindel received before he lost what little food remained in him from their breakfast all the way down the front and shoulder of Glorfindel’s tunic. Glorfindel cursed, carefully setting Erestor down, but the nausea seemed to have passed, even though he still looked paler than Glorfindel liked. Looking down himself in disgust, Glorfindel whipped off the stained garment with a repulsed shudder, wiping himself down with the clean part and dropping the soiled tunic on the ground beside him. They had only what little water remained in his skin, having crossed no streams yet, and with a quick decision he abandoned the fabric. Picking up Erestor in his arms, carefully wedging one arm behind his knees to avoid jostling the broken leg.

“Naked?” Erestor asked, sounding confused and terribly young to Glorfindel’s ears. His face flushed lightly beneath the pallor, but he sagged into the hold nonetheless.

“Hush,” Glorfindel murmured, pressing Erestor’s head to rest more comfortably against his chest as he set off once more. A light snore was his only answer.

 

 

 

 

He woke to the sound of birdsong and quiet snoring, blinking blearily against the light of dawn filtering down through new leaves. Glorfindel froze, running through his most recent memories and cursing himself for a fool. How could he have fallen asleep when Erestor relied on him for protection?!

“I can hear you muttering,” Erestor grumbled, his breathing changing suddenly. Glorfindel tensed, squeezing his fingers. He did a mental doubletake, squeezing Erestor’s fingers again where they lay twined with his own, resting on his chest. Glorfindel could feel his heart beating a fast rhythm, slowing it down with sheer willpower. As awareness slowly returned to him, he realised that he was stretched out flat on the ground, Erestor’s body curled up half on top of him, the leg with its brace wrapped around and between his spread thighs. Halting the train of thought there, Glorfindel blew out a deep lungful of air through his nose, opening his eyes to watch Erestor’s face craned up to look at him, the grey eyes soft in the gentle light.

“Good morning,” he croaked, trying to convince his fingers to let go of Erestor’s but feeling rather unable to follow his own command. His other arm felt slightly numb, wrapped around Erestor’s shoulders. It, too, did not wish to move, and even though there was a rock making a divot in the blade of his left shoulder Glorfindel thought he might be content to continue to lie here, studying the flickers of emotion crossing Erestor’s face as the events of the day prior filtered back through the fog of memory. It was still there, Glorfindel thought, feeling a cross between giddy and terrified, and wondering if Erestor could feel those emotions bleeding into his own hröa, considering how much skin lay uncovered between them.

Erestor’s smile was small, but it was a smile.

“How’s your head?” Glorfindel asked softly, casting about for a distraction, quietly fearful that those storm-grey eyes saw much too clearly when Erestor was this close, his cheek pressed tight against the skin that hid his heart.

“Less… foggy,” Erestor replied evenly. “We should get back home,” he continued, though he made no move to get up. Glorfindel’s hold tightened unnecessarily, filled with keen-edged reluctance and wanting to keep Erestor right where he was, where he _belonged_.

“Yes,” he sighed, working on making his limbs obey him. Erestor rolled away from him with a light groan as he stretched. Pushing himself up, Glorfindel got to his feet, bending to pick up the waterskin he had refilled when they crossed a mountain stream late the day before. Handing the skin to Erestor, he was surprised to see those grey eyes widen, tilting his head in silent question. Blood flushed Erestor’s cheeks, the flush spreading up towards the tips of his ears. “Feeling well enough, Erestor?” Glorfindel asked, kneeling in worry when Erestor shivered, biting his lip.

“You’re… naked.” Erestor mumbled, his cheeks scarlet. Glorfindel looked down himself, shrugging lightly. His breeches revealed his legs from ankle to knee, the soft boots he wore covering his feet. His tunic, of course, was gone, but he was hardly _naked_. Glorfindel felt slightly warm under the scrutiny of those eyes; suddenly self-conscious of the scars that still marred his skin.

“I needed the cloth for wrapping your leg,” he explained, letting his hair fall forward to cover himself slightly, as he gestured at his legs, “and you were sick on my tunic…”

“Oh.” Erestor’s cheeks remained crimson, but he took the waterskin, closing his eyes as he drank thirstily. Glorfindel found himself arrested by the way his throat worked, wanting to taste the beat of his heart pulsing life through the vein of his neck. Taking the skin when Erestor was finished, his fingers brushing against his own and giving him a jolt of something that Glorfindel did not dare name, raising the skin and taking a long drink as a way to hide his face.

Rustling told him Erestor was moving, but he was still surprised to see him on his feet wen he turned around, looking a little unsteady.

“I will carry you,” he said, wincing slightly when it came out like an order. Erestor swayed lightly, stubbornly crossing his arms and giving Glorfindel his best glare. Wrapping his arms around Erestor’s shoulders Glorfindel gentled his tone, “You haven’t eaten since yesterday morning, you were sick, and you’re still healing from a wound to the head; please let me carry you.”

“And how long will you mock me for such weakness?” Erestor growled, but he leaned into Glorfindel’s body as though standing had sapped most of his strength.

“I’d never mock you,” Glorfindel replied, appalled, “never!” His mind was spinning.

Erestor chuckled, but he did not sound amused. “You will excuse me for finding that hard to believe coming from an elf who has spent more than fifteen centuries mocking me for… _the hug_.” He whispered the last two words with such distaste that Glorfindel nearly recoiled.

“When have I…?” he asked, stepping away and gripping Erestor’s shoulders, shaking him lightly when he did not look up.

“’Remember that time you _hugged me_ , Erestor?’,” Erestor mimicked, “’I’ve never felt that before’,” he continued, those grey eyes stormy with anger that seemed to have been building for years, _centuries_ even. “’Erestor, do you like hugging?’” Glorfindel winced; Erestor did not have much skill with impersonations, and he was sure he had never asked those questions so spitefully, though he did not deny having asked them.

“I did not mean –“ he began, but Erestor huffed out a breath, turning his face away.

“It does not matter,” he spat.

“It matters!” Glorfindel denied hotly, shaking him gently again, part of him still mindful that Erestor was not at his best – why else would he be saying these things, admitting hurt where before there had always been wry remarks and pithy wit? “You never said…” he tried, his words faltering. “I wanted to know _why_ …”

“Because you were there!” Erestor cried, staring at him, the wound at his temple having opened in the night, leaving a trail of blood snaking down his cheek. “You… you came back, and _she_ didn’t, and I…” he cut off himself, scowling harshly.

Glorfindel hugged him, pulling him up tight against his chest, grateful that this time there was no armour to keep him from feeling the way those limbs pressed into his own, even though Erestor remained stiff and unyielding, opposite the last time they had stood like this.

“You hugged me, and you felt relief, and fear, and joy tempered with grief, and you…” he swallowed heavily, wanting to bury his face in Erestor’s hair, no matter that it smelled like dirt and blood. “Erestor, don’t you see?” he asked, as that tender feeling washed over him again. This time, it was oddly muffled, muted by Erestor’s anger, but still there, a bright spark of _rightness_ that gave Glorfindel courage. “You… I was exhausted, grieving, and more weary than I had been since I woke in Mandos and realised the balrog had slain me,” he hadn’t thought Erestor could be tenser, but the Loremaster proved him wrong, every muscle in his slender frame stiffening. Glorfindel continued to speak softly. “You made me forget it, all of it, for a moment, and I…” he paused, wondering where all the moisture in his mouth had disappeared to, but swallowed drily and kept talking, “I needed you in that moment more than you may ever realise.” Pulling back slightly, his hands returned to Erestor’s shoulders. Taking a deep breath, Glorfindel lifted his head, trying to read Erestor’s face. Erestor stared back, his eyes a little frightened, but he did not move away from the touch, which made Glorfindel smile. “I swear to you, I never meant to mock you with my questions; only to discover if I was… alone, in my reaction.” Glorfindel waited, trying to show his earnest emotions on his face, though he wasn’t sure Erestor saw him at all.

Opening his mouth, Erestor seemed lost for words and Glorfindel’s patience suddenly snapped. Sliding his hands up, he cupped Erestor’s face gently, the dark hair tickling his fingertips, and, dipping his head slowly, stole the softest of kisses from those lips. Kissing was better than hugging, he realised, but kept enough control of himself to pull away, studying Erestor’s frozen face. He did not speak, the hands that had been at his sides coming up to grip Glorfindel’s forearms tightly. Suddenly fearful, the golden warrior pulled back.

“What…” Erestor’s words petered out, his grey eyes large as he stared up at Glorfindel, who was beginning to curse himself for a fool. Erestor shook his head. “You…” but the words died out once more. Glorfindel winced. Closing his eyes, he waited for Erestor’s reproach, his palm still resting along his well-formed jaw while Erestor’s fingers were curled around his own wrists. “Why…?” Erestor finally breathed, the tiny gust of air playing across Glorfindel’s lips in a way that made him want to kiss Erestor again and damn the consequences.

“Erestor,” he murmured instead, keeping his eyes closed so he wouldn’t have to see the possible disgust on Erestor’s face. “Have you never realised why I always looked to you as the first thing when I returned to camp?” The silence was loud and damning to Glorfindel’s mind. He sighed, beginning to pull away. With a murmur of protest, Erestor’s fingers tightened their grip, keeping him in place. Glorfindel’s eyes flew open, just in time to see Erestor’s face galvanise into determination as one hand abandoned his wrist in favour of tangling in his hair and pulling him back to that mouth, swallowing his groan in a kiss that was a thousand times sweeter than the first one. Glorfindel’s fingertips were still stroking along Erestor’s jaw and up to his ear, but his free arm wrapped itself around his back once more, pulling him in close as the kiss continued. “Meleth,” Glorfindel whispered between kisses, Erestor’s slender fingers tangled in his golden locks; he wondered why having his hair pulled was so pleasurable, but he didn’t want to break the kiss to ask.

 

 

Elrond smiled Idril’s smile at him again when he finished looking over Erestor’s wound, pronouncing him well on his way to healing, but Glorfindel still insisted on carrying him back to his bed for rest.

He did not leave for some time, and then only to procure food.

 

 

Elrond kindly did not laugh when Glorfindel told him the whole story, simply giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder and leaving the balcony where Glorfindel had found him, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘it’s about time’.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel returns from an arduous trek through the mountains... but Erestor's smile makes it worth it.
> 
> The kissing is just a bonus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the mods: Attempt 2
> 
> I managed to finish this to my own reasonably satisfied mind in time - though I may tinker with it slightly over the next few days.
> 
> Do let me know if #1 ought be reposted separately.

# 2

Dwarrow _complained_ endlessly, Glorfindel groused, stewing in silence as he listened to the bickering group behind him, and quietly prayed for silence that would not come. They were not even silent in _sleep_ , Elbereth help him!

His prayer went unheeded.

Beneath him, Asfaloth snorted, shaking his head and dancing slightly on the spot; the horse as irritated as his master. His hooves struck the rock hiding beneath the thin layer of soil, but Asfaloth remained steady and surefooted, as though he wished to prove that he was as adept a mount as those following. Glorfindel struggled to pick out the sound of the goats’ hooves under the sound of another minor argument brewing between two Dwarrow who argued much like he sometimes argued with Erestor;arguing for the sake of arguing, the tone of gruff fondness bringing with it a wave of homesickness.

Thinking about Erestor was far more pleasant than paying attention to his cohorts, but he had learned his lesson about paying attention whenever mountain paths and goats were involved and banished the longing to the farthest corners of his mind, allowing himself only a brief flash of Erestor’s soft smile before he swept his gaze across the craggy landscape once more.

Behind him, the argument continued, spiralling inexplicably from the inferiority of the older one’s skill at starting fires to the best material for creating statues. Glorfindel sighed to himself.

He would never understand Dwarrow. Never.

 

When the tallest roof in Imladris finally appeared in his view, Glorfindel sighed with relief. Asfaloth, too, seemed livelier, as though he longed to be home as much as Glorfindel himself.

The lead Dwarf – his name was Haraldr – squinted in the bright noonlight, tilting his head for a while, but ultimately nodding approval at the sprawling buildings that were still hidden from all but the most discerning eyes among the green leaves in the valley below.

“This is yon Elf-home, then,” he said thoughtfully.

“This is Imladris, Master Haraldr,” Glorfindel said, his tongue barely avoiding tripping on the strange combination of sounds that made up the Dwarf’s name. He got a hum of acknowledgment, but no more words appeared to be forthcoming from his companions, who all seemed to have elected Haraldr as their spokesperson whenever they needed to communicate with their guide.

The goats, at least, seemed pleased, bleating softly at each other. Glorfindel shared the sentiment, even if the goats probably had no other reasons than getting to try out the green leaves and shoots that grew along the path, their nimble sure hooves less necessary now than they had been in the mountains they had traversed.

Turning Asfaloth down the path for home, skirting the valley, Glorfindel wondered how he _always_ got suckered into these things. The answer made him smile to himself, pleased to be returning to what he was sure would be a fond welcome.

 

“You’re home!” Erestor exclaimed, lifting his head from the long scroll he was writing to smile brilliantly when Glorfindel walked into the library. Glorfindel felt his own lips stretch into a grin. He smelled of horse, and probably a little of goat or Dwarf, but he held his arms wide nonetheless, wrapping them around Erestor’s body and sighing when he buried his face in that silky black hair, enjoying the scent of apple blossoms.

“I am,” he murmured, unsurprised when Erestor sniffed, drawing back slightly to raise a very eloquent eyebrow at him. In lieu of replying – or getting ordered off for a bath – Glorfindel grinned mischievously, cupping the back of Erestor’s head in his hand and pulling him in for a kiss that soon became several.

This was home.

 

 

Later, when he had bathed, scrubbing the journey off his skin, he found Erestor waiting in their room, already dressed for bed – Elrond had apparently given him the night off, and Glorfindel had little desire to make an appearance at the feast himself, vastly preferring to spend his evening eating morsels of food from Erestor’s fingers and resting his weary head in his lap, enjoying the utter lack of Dwarven arguing in his vicinity.

“You seem tired, meleth,” Erestor murmured, handing Glorfindel a goblet of chilled water that tasted like home. Collapsing on their bed was undignified, of course, which was why Glorfindel took great pleasure in doing so, sprawling across the bedding and resting his head against Erestor’s thigh. “Incorrigible,” Erestor huffed, but he smiled and leaned down for a kiss that also tasted like home. Glorfindel smiled, nodding in agreement – both things were true.

“You, too, would be tired if you had spent a fortnight listening to Dwarrow rehashing the same five or six arguments over and over; I know far more than I even thought possible to know about why young Hanar’s copper wire keeps snapping when he uses a particular kind of forceps – Varda, please stop me,” he moaned, dropping his arm across his eyes, “I am turning into one of them.” Erestor laughed brightly, leaning down. Glorfindel felt him shift, opening his mouth lightly to accept the kiss he knew was coming, but was surprised by the soft flavourful berry pressed into his mouth and exploding against his tongue as Erestor continued to kiss him.

Tangling his fingers in soft unbound sleekness, Glorfindel lost himself in the kiss, following Erestor back up when he straightened again, chasing stray droplets of berry juice on his lips. Twisting on the bed, he learned in, pressing Erestor slowly back against the pillows as they traded small kisses.

“You missed me.” Erestor smiled. Glorfindel nipped his lip gently, surprised when his love used a move he had once shown him in a very different kind of unarmed tussle to flip them over, his hands automatically landing on Erestor’s hips. Erestor smirked above him, settling his weight evenly and reaching behind himself for the platter of fruit. Picking a piece of apple, he pressed it against Glorfindel’s mouth, leaning down in a way that was both _good_ and _not enough_ , stealing half and swallowing Glorfindels hiss of pleasure with it.

“And I suppose you missed me not at all,” he joked, when he found the wherewithal to quip again. Erestor laughed brightly.

“Trust me, Glorfindel,” he murmured, leaning down and breathing gently into Glorfindel’s ear, making a shiver of anticipation run down his spine. “I missed you plenty.”

When those lips closed around the tip of his ear, Erestor’s tongue running lightly along the edge, Glorfindel groaned, clutching at him and pulling him closer, cursing the layers that still separated them.

It took a little work to divest Erestor of his bedrobe, mostly because Glorfindel forgot how knots worked as his skilful tongue continued to play havoc with his mind, and Erestor’s slender fingers made short work of the laces on his own breeches.

 

Later, when he felt imp and sated, simply enjoying the feeling of Erestor being close, and basking in the love between them, Glorfindel returned his attention to the silver platter. Picking up small bites, he offered them to Erestor, whose head rested on his stomach, while Glorfindel’s lay pillowed by Erestor’s thigh, one of his legs sprawled off their low bed. Popping a slightly sour berry into his mouth, he relished the pinching tartness, feeling Erestor’s quiet laughter shake the bed.

“I do not know how you can eat those. They’re terribly sour,” he said, eyes crinkling at the offended look Glorfindel threw him.

“I bet if you tried them more often, you’d like them,” he challenged, holding out his hand. Erestor chuckled, shaking his head. Glorfindel’s smile widened as an idea struck. “Well, perhaps they are a little tart,” he said, striving for nonchalance, “but I’m sure I could find something sweet to soften the taste.” Turning his hand, he smeared the soft fruit across Erestor’s hip, lifting himself off the bed to follow the trail of juice with his tongue. Erestor groaned, half-exasperated, but also half-intrigued, so Glorfindel reached for another berry, streaking it down his flank and pushing him back onto the bed when he began licking off the tart fruit.

 

 

In the morning, Glorfindel woke early, sneaking out to return with a washbasin and a pitcher of warmed water. Kissing Erestor to pull him out of his dreams was a favourite habit he indulged as often as circumstance let him, though it often led to himself getting pulled back to bed.

This was not a hardship, to Glorfindel’s mind.

 

 

Moving swiftly towards the courtyard where Elrond would be presiding over breakfast, Glorfindel watched Erestor fussing with his hair with a soft smile, silently vowing to do his utmost to engineer a secluded moment in which to mess it up again.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Erestor said, when he slid into his chair. Glorfindel shrugged, taking a seat beside him. “I’ll be in negotiations all day; you would find more joy taking yourself off to the practice field and handing Iorthon his behind in a swordfight.” Glorfindel did not reply, simply pouring each of them a goblet of juice. Erestor chuckled.

“Iorthon is dull to spar with,” he mumbled after a few bites, “and I’m sure you’ll need a distraction after half a day.” Leaning over, he pretended to be whispering into Erestor’s ear, fully aware that his loose hair shielded his true actions from view and nipped at the tip of Erestor’s ear, soothing the light sting with his tongue until Erestor’s fingers tightened on his thigh, his blunt nails sending a lick of pain up Glorfindel’s spine.

“You are incorrigible,” Erestor sighed, but the way his fingers kept drawing tiny figures on Glorfindel’s thigh beneath the table while they both pretended to be paying complete attention to Elrond’s introduction of their guests told him that his love in no way minded his incorrigibility.

 

 

Of course, the negotiations were as tedious as he had expected they would be, which meant it was not Glorfindel who found a sneaky corner, but Erestor who showed up, brimming with frustration, where he was sitting in the quiet library, reading through a history of Gondolin and feeling annoyed with half the portrayals within. Ecthelion had preferred rather bawdy tavern songs – usually made up by the Edain, though they had composed a few together – not orchestral symphonies.

Erestor’s hand wrapping itself in his hair and pulling it tight against his skull was a surprise, though the slight sting was forgotten in favour of letting his fingers roam the tempting shape that had just slid onto his lap, Erestor’s irritation evident in the ferocity of his kisses, but Glorfindel met him kiss for kiss, sucking on his tongue and caring little that they could be interrupted at any moment.

Breathing hard, Erestor rested his forehead against Glorfindel’s, those stormy grey eyes still showing evidence of strain around the edges, softening as he smiled at Glorfindel, the hand in his hair tilting his head back and giving Erestor unbridled access to his throat, sucking kiss-shaped bruises into the pale flesh until Glorfindel wanted to have him right there on the library desk.

Standing, wrapping his hands around Erestor’s thighs to lift him onto the desk, Glorfindel pressed him back against the papers, uncaring when Erestor’s hand shot out, pushing the scroll on the floor with a light clatter. Following him down, he moved slowly, returning the attack on his throat with equal passion as Erestor writhed beneath him, gasping cries of his name the only thing to pass those thin lips.

 

 

“You have to be kidding me.” Glorfindel stared. Elrond smiled genially; Glorfindel sternly told himself that it was not going to work, he would not be swayed. Not this time. No.

“I already mentioned it to Erestor,” Elrond said breezily, “he thought it was a grand idea.” Glorfindel’s blood ran cold, vehement denial spat into the balmy air before he had time to consider, whirling away and stomping off, trying to banish images of blood in dark hair and skin that was far too pale.

 

“Please don’t,” he said, entering the quarters. Erestor half-turned, bent over the washbasin, to throw him a questioning glance. “The race,” Glorfindel continued, wrapping his fingers in his hair as he paced, frustratingly fearful, “please don’t do it.”

“It will be fun, Glorfindel,” Erestor smiled, and normally Glorfindel would have trusted that smile more than anything, but his mind was still too full of remembered guilt and terror to appreciate the fact that Erestor was hale and hearty right in front of him. “You should join, too,” he continued brightly, patting his face dry with a towel. Glorfindel reached for him, blindly grabbing hold of his hand and pulled him close, feeling his heart try to beat its way out of his chest.

“I can’t,” he whispered, hardly recognising his own voice, “not again, Erestor, I _can’t_.”

“Oh,” Erestor breathed into his throat, wrapping his arms tightly around Glorfindel, tilting his head up to press a kiss against his jaw. “I won’t, I promise,” he whispered, “I’m sorry, I did not think.” Breathing hard, Glorfindel kissed him, nearly desperate. Erestor hummed into his mouth, gentling the kiss as his hands drew soothing circles on his back. “It is well, meleth,” he murmured, each word a gentle huff of breath against Glorfindel’s lips as he stared calmly up, those grey eyes soft and understanding.

“I love you,” he murmured, watching his favourite smile spread across Erestor’s face.

“I love you too,” Erestor replied, sneaking another gentle kiss, “even if you are incorrigible.”

**Author's Note:**

> Con-crit very welcome.


End file.
